


Texts from last night

by Sonicmeriver (Lakela)



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, PWP without the actual porn (I know. What a pointless fic.)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:22:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakela/pseuds/Sonicmeriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Tatennant / dirty talk</p>
            </blockquote>





	Texts from last night

**Author's Note:**

> A/N. Look at me actually writing RPF. This is an AU where neither of them are married (because I feel uncomfortable writing about RL spouses). And I really, really can’t do dirty talking. I tried!

He strides into her dressing room as if it were his own, utterly unconcerned for her privacy or her current state of undress. For, as it so happens, she’s only in her bra and knickers when he walks in.

He gives her a sideways glance as he closes the door behind him, his eyes wondering briefly down her body, and proceeds to collapse on her sofa, his feet up, resting on the sofa’s arms.

“So!” he proclaims, grinning inanely, “I have a new business!”

She blinks at him in disbelief. He arches an eyebrow in response.

“New business,” he repeats, just in case wearing no clothes has also impaired her hearing. “It’s a brilliant one, go on,” he encourages.

“Knock, maybe?” she suggests with what she hopes comes across as stern bewilderment, though she has a feeling her amusement might be showing. “Blush perhaps? An ‘oops, sorry’? Nope? None of them inspire you?

“Oh right, were you changing?” he says taking a proper look, now, up and down her body.

“Take a wild guess!”

“Oh. Well, do you want me to,” he suggests, not moving an inch from the couch as he points towards the door.

Catherine sighs and turns around to look for her costume. “Alright,” she says giving up, “what is your new business?”

“Kinky!” he exclaims.

“What?,”  she says turning around. “Kinky??? How is that even a…” she stops when she realises what he’s seen. “Oh, that’s just…” she blushes as she picks up a shopping bag that has fallen to the floor, spilling black and pink lingerie. “That’s not mine,” she mumbles.

“Is that a corset?” he says clearly amused. “Hot date tonight, eh? You kept it quiet! I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.”

“I’m not. I just told you, that’s not mine.”

“Right.”

“Oh, geroff. You were saying something about a business?”

He looks at her grinning like an idiot and waggling an eyebrow. She sighs. He laughs.

“Did I tell you about my new business?,” he finally says.

*

That night, as she folds her newly acquired lingerie, her thoughts drift back to David and she flushes. She knows he didn’t buy her lie, of course the lingerie is hers, but the bit about not having a date is true, which makes her acquiring the garments all the sadder. They had been on sale, though, and had really, really suited her. So what if no one was there to see it? She’d always flirted with the idea of getting something a little sexier than her usual cotton knickers, and that had felt like the right time.

Her nokia suddenly beeps. She finishes placing the lingerie in the drawer and reaches for her mobile.

 _“Are you wearing it?”,_ says the screen. Oh, she wants to kill him!

She types back. “ _Fastening the suspender belt as we speak.”_

_“Oh, stockings. Sexy! What else?”_

_“You’d be so lucky,”_ she types back.

She starts taking her clothes off, to get into her nightgown as the phone beeps again.

_“Is he there yet?”_

For a moment she doesn’t know what David means. Then she understands, of course, her mysterious hot date.

“ _David, dear, if I had a hot date, do you honestly think I’d be here texting you?”_

 _“Would you not?”_ the phone asks back. She rolls her eyes. A moment later, “ _Thong?”_

 _“You’re such a child,”_ she types.

“ _Thank you : ) Except… you know what Billie used to call me…”_ She can’t believe he’s trying to dirty talk her.

“ _Bored, are we? No hot date for the striking David Teninch?”_

The next text takes a while to arrive, and she chastises herself for waiting for it.  

_“Just got offered a drink, actually. But I declined. I’d much rather sit here on my own, picturing you in sexy lingerie.”_

Oh. Is he actually out? Is he bluffing? Maybe he’s drunk. Maybe that’s why he’s sending her flirty texts. She decides there’s only one way to find out.

“ _Are you drunk?”_

“ _Not yet.”_

_“Where are you?”_

_“Why? Want to join me?”_

“ _You ARE drunk.”_

_“You’re no fun.”_

No, she really isn’t, she thinks to herself as she finishes discarding her clothes and putting the nightgown on. She doesn’t know what to reply to that, so she doesn’t. Instead, she lays on top of the covers and turns the TV on. A few minutes later the phone beeps again.

“ _Sorry. I’m an idiot_.”

She stares at the screen for a while. She didn’t mean to make him feel bad; she’s just not in the mood for dirty drunk texting. She sighs.

“ _Yes, it’s a thong,”_ she finally sends.

“ _What?”_ is the message that comes back.

“ _Black with pink ribbons. Like the corset.”_

_“Oh. Go on.”_

She smiles. She doesn’t know how to continue, she’s absolutely rubbish at this. “Black _and grey lace bra…_ ,” she types.

She holds her breath when she reads the next message. _“I bet your breasts look amazing in it.”_ Are they going too far? She hasn’t had time to answer, when another message comes through. “ _Then again, they always do. Go on. Your hair?”_

“ _Up. In matching black and pink ribbons,” s_ he sends, relieved the topic has moved on from her breasts and trying not to think about what he means.

“ _No. Leave it down. And curly. You do have perfect hair, Catherine.”_

She’s starting to regret this. This is not a good idea, she knows. They’re wandering into dangerous territory. She doesn’t do mindless flirting. She only flirts when she wants something, and she knows that’s not what David is doing, they’re best mates and she knows exactly what his type is and it’s not her. So, again, this. is not. a good idea.

“ _Ok, hair down,” s_ he sends.

“ _Good. Hair down, falling over your shoulders, just above your round breasts. God you’re gorgeous.”_

Bad, bad idea. Again, the next text comes before she’s had a chance to reply. Not that she knows what to say. _“No shoes, either.”_

 _“Really? No sexy high heels?”_ she asks, surprised.

“ _No. I’ve already taken them off you.”_

Too far.

 _“David…”_ she sends, hoping he will get the message.

“ _The stockings are next to go. I take my time with them. Kissing, licking as I roll them down your legs. You taste delicious.”_

Her hands shake as she reads the text. What the fuck is he doing? “ _Too far,”_ she sends.

“ _I bet you do, though, Catherine. I want to taste you._ ”

She’s both angry and shaken. Can’t he understand when he’s crossed a line?

She types, “ _David, it’s late. I’m tired and you’re drunk. I’ll see you tomorrow, ok? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Good night x_ " she adds the kiss hoping this will soften the blow and make things less awkward for them tomorrow.

“ _Fuck. Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I got carried away. I am drunk. Sorry.”_

 _“That’s ok. You didn’t. I’m just tired and not really in the mood for games. Night x,” s_ he lies.

She turns the telly off and gets inside the bed sheets. The phone beeps.

“ _Not a game.”_

_“David…”_

_“I know I’m drunk and I know I probably just bollocked everything up between us, but I meant every last word. Sorry. Had to get it out.”_

She’s getting angrier by the second. Does he think because he’s the most attractive man she’s ever met, that gives him the right to play with her when he’s horny? She’s about to turn the mobile off, when a new message arrives. “ _Can we talk? In person.”_

Her breath catches. He actually wants to see her, now?

“ _Not when you’re drunk,”_ she doesn’t add “and horny.” “ _You can tell me tomorrow whatever it is that you want to say. I’m already in bed. x"_

“ _Ok. Sweet dreams x"_

_“Night x”_

_*_

Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe the next day. He doesn’t come into her dressing room before the show, as he always does, they hardly exchange a word off stage, and on stage… well, let’s just say the tension between Benedick and Beatrice has definitely gone up a notch. Her lips are firmly closed when he launches for the kiss, even if her hands roam all over his body to mimic the passion.

And all the while she’s trying not to think of his messages. About as successfully as she found it, as a kid, not to think about a pink elephant when prompted not to do exactly that.

The play finishes and they both go off into their respective dressing rooms. She changes quickly and finds he’s already waiting for her to sign autographs at stage door. She acknowledges him with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and they come out together to meet the fans.

As she’s grabbing her things from the dressing room, there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she says, already knowing who it is.

He comes in sheepishly. “May I?” he asks uncharacteristically.

“Yes, of course,” she sighs and then smiles at him. “Bit of a weird day, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he agrees and she nods. “Look, I just…”

“David,” she says interrupting him. “You don’t have to.”

“I know, I just…” he continues, looking down. “I need to.”

“There’s nothing to say. It was nothing. Things don’t need to get awkward for a silly text.”

“You don’t understand,” he says, his eyes suddenly fixed on hers. Her face heats up.

“What?”

“I…” he begins.  “God, Catherine. Haven’t you noticed? How I look at you. What you do to me,” he’s flushed but she’s positively certain she must be blushing twice as hard. “I’m sorry I sent those stupid texts, but I did mean every word. You are gorgeous. You’re perfect, actually. Every last bit of you. I think about you all the time. That’s why I went out for a drink last night, didn’t really need the image of you with another bloke. I just, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He looks at her desperately and she can’t seem to find the words. English? What English?

“Ok!” he says, breathing out forcibly as he suddenly starts babbling. “Aye. Ok, so, that’s uh… what I wanted to say. And uh, that’s it! Well, I shall see you tomorrow, eh? Good night, Catherine.”

She grabs his arm before he can scurry off the door and pulls him towards her and away from the exit.

They’re standing far too close now, and he’s looking at her with an intensity she has never seen before. Much less directed at her.

“But I’m not your type,” she protests weakly, when words seem to come back to her. Even to her ears, her excuse sounds rubbish.

“What?” now it’s his turn to be confused.

“I’m not blonde, or skinny, or sexy, or even cute by any stretch of the imagination.”

“That’s my type?” he asks amused.

“Of course that’s your type. Everyone knows that.”

“I see,” he says still only a few inches from her mouth. “And I suppose I am not your type,” he adds, his eyes dipping down to her lips.

“Not in the slightest,” she breathes as she grabs him, to pull his lips to hers. “You’re not my type at all,” she repeats against his mouth.

The sensation isn’t entirely unfamiliar, at first. After all, they do this every night on stage. But when his tongue licks the entrance of her mouth asking for permission, and proceeds to plunge into her… Well, that is nothing like their stage kisses. He sucks on her mouth with positive hunger and urgency. His tongue seemingly all over. He tastes amazing. And that’s as coherent as her thoughts get, because her brain is clearly running out of oxygen.

She feels his hands, coming up to her face, pulling her closer (which is actually physically impossible), and then coming around to caress her hair. David’s mouth leaves hers and starts wondering down her neck, as his hands have, once again, resumed their explorations, around her back, her waist, her breasts…

A sound that, if you ask her, does not resemble a moan at all, escapes her throat and he bites her neck in response.

“David, this isn’t a…” she breathes out, but David’s mouth sucks on her neck and she can’t remember how the sentence was supposed to finish.

“Shag,” she says.

“I’m trying,” he protests, his hands already under her blouse.

“No,” she insists. “I don’t mean… We can’t,” she finally blurts, pushing his hands off of her.

“ Why?” he asks, his breathing ragged, his lips red.

“You’re my best friend. I don’t want to ruin that for a shag,” she says, and she knows this is coming out all wrong.

“Oh.” He looks completely shattered.

“David,” her hand reaches out for him but he avoids it. “I just don’t do one night stands, especially not with you.”

“Bloody hell, Catherine, were you not listening? I said I fancy you.”

“Yes, I know, I fancy the hell out of you, too, but I don’t think this a good idea,” she adds gesturing between them. And then quieter, “I can't.”

"But I thought..."

"Don't push it."

"Will you at least tell me why?"

She thinks about not replying, but the utter confusion in his eyes make her relent. "I can't afford to get hurt," she says honestly.

Surprisingly, his eyes light up at her confession. “Oh, Catherine. I don’t fancy you as in I want to shag you. Well I do. But that’s not it. I fancy you as in… I would do anything to be with you. Not just tonight but every day if you'll have me. The last thing I’d want to do is hurt you. I... I fucking love you Catherine. I, am fucking, in love, with you.”

And for a moment, it feels as if the world has been pulled from under her and she’s floating in the dark. Slowly, her lips curve up and she takes a step closer to him. “You are?”

None of this makes any sense, she thinks vaguely.

“Yeah,” he says with hint of a smile. “Is that ok?” he asks.

“It's not entirely disagreable,” she says smiling. “In fact, it's more than ok,” she adds against his lips.

The kiss is unhurried compared to the first one, but even more intense, if such a thing is possible.

“I fancy you, too,” she whispers in his ear a few hours later, as they both lay in her bed.


End file.
